


The Devil on my Sofa.

by BarPurple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Comfort, Crap Telly, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can be rude in my own bloody house! You pop in, eat my chocolate and hog the telly remote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil on my Sofa.

I know the devil is real. The bastard is sitting on my sofa eating Maltesers and laughing at Jeremy Kyle.

“Crowley. Crowley! Move your feet!”

The King of Hell, and I’m sure as damn not calling him that, doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, but at least he lifts his feet so I can hoover the carpet. I hate hoovering. I only do it when Crowley shows up just so he can’t hear the crap telly he’s watching. It doesn’t seem to bother him a single bit, but it makes me feel better. I know it’s petty, but I’ve been putting up with random demonic visits for seven months now and I’m at the end of my rope. Almost.

I put the hoover back into its cupboard with more force than is strictly necessary. I can feel Crowley looking at me. Here it comes.

“Sure there’s nothing you want from me dear?”

He’s been asking that question since I met him on the side of the road. I curse the idiot who summoned him that night, though after all these months there’s not much venom behind it. In fact I smile a little to myself as I recall how he’d run screaming passed me leaving a trail of piss behind him.

“Don’t ignore me, it’s rude.”

And a devil who decided that stalking me was a fair replacement for making a deal with that guy.

“I can be rude in my own bloody house! You pop in, eat my chocolate and hog the telly remote. I don’t want to make a deal with you Crowley. Haven’t you got souls in Hell to torture?”

He actually huffs and rolls his eyes. He never wants to talk about Hell and that is a relief, but I got to admit I’m a little curious. Well, wouldn’t you be? I mean how often do you get proof of the life here after? 

He clicks the telly off and shifts up the sofa. I sigh at him, but sit down on the opposite end and snatch my Maltesers back from him. I manage to grab a handful before he clicks his fingers and poofs the pack back into his hand. I crunch my chocolate and look at him hard. He’s not looking happy, and seriously what did I do to piss the world off that I know the devil well enough to judge his mood?

“You’re staring, love.”

I crunch another ball of chocolate.

“I’m waiting for you to start bitching. You’ve got that Winchester look about you.”

A few months back Crowley brought me a set of books by Carver Edlund. Between them and Crowley’s stories I feel I know Sam and Dean. I wish I knew them well enough to have a phone number for them; maybe they would take the devil off my hands. Then again from the sounds of things they’re probably glad he’s bugging somebody else.  
He throws me one of those half smiles of his.

“Moose and Squirrel are about to do something very stupid.”

“How stupid? Should I not bother renewing my Netflix subscription?”

That actually makes him laugh.

“I’d hold off till the last minute if I were you. Just in case the plaid nightmares don’t pull off a last minute save.”

I raise my eyebrows and get up from the sofa. I can feel his eyes follow me to the kitchen. If he’s going to tell me that the world might be ending in the next two months I’m going to need a drink. I used to have gin, but since Crowley’s been dropping by no matter what booze I bring into the house it ends up turning into Glen Craig scotch. It took me a while, but I’ve got a taste for it now. He smiles as I walk back holding the bottle and two tumblers.

“That’s my girl; faced with the probable end of days and you go straight for the liquor.”

I hand him the tumblers and pour the scotch.

“If the horsemen are saddling up I want to get a bit of a buzz on.”

I put the bottle on the floor by his feet and sit back down. He waits till I’ve got comfy before he hands me my scotch. It strikes me that we act like friends these days and I’m not even disturbed by how normal that feels.

He clinks his glass to mine.

“Here’s to going out smiling; even if it is only ‘cause of the Craig.”

I nod to that and drink a mouthful of firewater. I’m still waiting for him to get into full Winchester bitch mode. He’s staring into his scotch, just watching the amber liquid like it holds the answers to the universe. For all I know it might.

“Why won’t you make a deal with me?”

Ah, we’re back to this old chestnut. Crowley worries at my refusal like it’s a loose tooth. I know I’m not the first person to say no to a deal with the devil, he’s told me that himself. I take another sip of scotch before I answer him; he’s heard it before so the waiting doesn’t bother him.

“I don’t want to know my expiry date. I make a deal with you and ten years to the day you send one of your pups up for me and that’s all she wrote. I can’t imagine living like that; no matter what deal I make I’ll always know when the clock’s going to strike for the last time and that just doesn’t seem like living to me.”

He just nods, as he always does these days. He gave up on the sales pitch after a few months of bugging me. Today is a little different, because he has something to say about my reply.

“You like the uncertainty. A little bit of chaos makes life worth living for you.”

“Pretty much.”

He gives a sigh that so deep it must have come up from his feet. In one movement he picks the bottle up from the floor, refills my glass and tugs my feet into his lap. The telly clicks back on and just like that I’m watching an antiques show while the devil himself gives me a foot rub.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no idea where this came from.


End file.
